


surely we can find a way

by boyfrendery



Series: falter [2]
Category: NCT (Band), WAYV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Future Fic, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Non-Linear Narrative, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:13:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26491717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boyfrendery/pseuds/boyfrendery
Summary: years later, renjun meets with lucas and opens old wounds
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas
Series: falter [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931518
Comments: 5
Kudos: 44





	surely we can find a way

**Author's Note:**

> happy anniversary to my first luren ♡
> 
> i've met so many wonderful people since i started writing for them — i'm immensely grateful for luren nation and all the writers in it.
> 
> this fic is a sequel to [wear them out, if you want](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20729621) and follows the same non-linear format (roman numerals labelling the order of the flashbacks, italics for text messages). please read that fic first! this takes place a few years into the future (post-nct dream) and discusses group disbandment/the future of individual nct and wayv members. proceed with caution if this sort of story makes you uncomfortable.
> 
> special thanks to [rose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/divinerenjun) and sam for beta reading + [nat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggboyksoo) and angel for speculating futures with me. enjoy!

The ride home from the radio station is a time of sanctuary for Renjun. He remembers the days of doing live streams in the back of the company van, face hidden beneath the shadows casted by the harsh car lighting, the bumpiness of the video and city lights passing as his manager drove along the highway. Back then it was a fun way to pass the time. Reading comments and talking to the fans was entertaining, the outpour of love and support always a nice way to end the night.

Now he spends the time alone, drives his own car with old Chinese ballads playing the whole way through. His iPhone remains tucked into his backpack, set on silent for the entire half hour ride. The time away from the world is tranquil, just him and the music and the road, fingers tapping against the steering wheel. No worries.

There's more freedom now, too: freedom to choose how he interacts with fans, decide if he wants to linger after his show to chat with them or leave wordlessly. His fansites are dedicated and persistent, he’s learned, even if the number of cameras that waited for him every night lessened as time went on. The dedicated few still continue to camp out in front of the studio every night despite very little changing between each show. He admires their resilience. Envies it, even, despite the countless breaches into his private space—thankfully those incidents lessened as well.

Back then Renjun thought he was resilient, _they_ were resilient: through the graduation and the uncertainty, through the group changes. Resilience to stay, the sentiment shared through all five of them (or six, or seven, or nine, depending on who tells the story). 

But some things change and some things don’t. 

Renjun checks his phone when all three locks of his apartment door are secured, when every blackout curtain is drawn, covering his floor-to-ceiling windows from prying eyes.

He settles into bed with a mug of tea at his bedside, pulling out his phone from his bag. There are two notifications from a name he hasn’t seen in a while.

  
  


**unknown number**

_hey, it’s lucas  
_ _i got your number from mark_

Renjun’s heart drops and he almost, _almost_ ignores the conversation, but he knows this isn’t anything personal. It takes a few minutes to reason with himself that this is solely work-related. He’ll have to speak with him on air by the end of next week. There’s no use in ignoring him now.

_hi_

_are you free tomorrow?  
_ _i think we should meet before the interview  
_ _get coffee and catch up :)_

 _tomorrow afternoon works  
_ _text me the place_

 _ok  
_ _looking forward to it_

Renjun doesn’t sleep well after that. His stomach leaps in place and he can’t tell the difference between nervous butterflies and true nausea anymore, hasn’t in a while.

Some things change and some things don’t.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


v.

Renjun isn’t sure why he’s doing this.

He walked into the room with certainty, determined that he can do this. He can do this.

“Xuxi.”

But one look at Lucas makes his lip quiver, fills his chest with a burning ache that makes him wish he hadn’t thought of doing this at all. Even now he isn’t sure why he’s doing this but he feels like he has to. He needs to—for both of them.

Renjun tucks his knees close to his chest and looks forward, staring at the empty television. His reflection stares back at him.

“Do you think we…” A lump catches in his throat. He pauses, recollecting himself with a short breath. “Maybe we should— we should take a break, for now. We’ve known each other for so long and I just think—” 

Fuck, he doesn’t want to do this. He can’t back out now.

The hand that was resting on Renjun’s waist retreats, moving instead to rest on Lucas’ lap. The room suddenly feels colder without it there, the warmth of his hand no longer holding him.

“What good would that do?”

Renjun turns away from the screen to look at Lucas. It’s worrying that he can’t read his face right now: Lucas, so expressive, so honest with his feelings, appears blank. Empty.

“How would a break help us? We should just break up entirely, if you’re not happy.”

This isn’t how the conversation was supposed to go. Renjun tightens his jaw. “I never said that.”

“Then why do you want a break?”

This definitely isn’t where the conversation was supposed to go.

Renjun’s heart picks up speed, beating for freedom from his ribcage. The dorm is empty except for them but it’s suffocating, hard to breathe. He can’t hear himself as he rambles, goes on and on about next year, what will happen to him, what _could_ happen, and with each confession of uncertainty Renjun feels himself slip out: the dam collapses, all the worries he’s carried with him flooding past the barriers he worked so hard to put up, to keep all of it in.

He tells Lucas what’s on his mind but he never gets to answer his question.

So when Lucas begins to tear up, droplets streaming down the side of his face and along his chin, Renjun realizes he won’t be able to tell him. Not today.

Renjun doesn’t know when he stops talking, but when he does, Lucas says, “okay. I can’t make you stay with me if this is what you want.”

He watches the tears collect in Lucas’ eyes—his beautiful, love-filled eyes—and doesn’t notice when his own eyes begin to water. “Okay. I guess that’s… it, then. Okay.”

His body is on autopilot as he carries himself to the door, rushing to put on his shoes and leave the dorm. Lucas catches Renjun’s hand before he can place it on the doorknob.

“I’m forever yours, Renjun. Just say the word.”

The kiss he leaves on Renjun’s cheek feels like a burn on his skin. Brief and blazing, enough to leave its mark.

“Take care.”

All Renjun can think to do— _allows_ himself to do—is sigh. “You too, Xuxi.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


No one bats an eye when Renjun steps into the café. It doesn’t stop him from reflexively tugging at his cap and mask, closing in on the little space where his face is visible.

Neither the customers nor baristas seem to notice his presence, allowing him to pass through the rows of baked goods and busy tables without hassle. Queen’s Bakery is a risky place for them to meet—its close proximity to Namdaemun Market makes the café an easy target for them to be spotted in public—but it wasn’t his suggestion to meet here. He simply obliged to the request asked of him.

Besides, he wasn’t the one to reach out and initiate contact in the first place.

Renjun double-checks his phone, confirming that he’s in the right location. He hovers around, searching for a man matching the description in his text. It’s really busy for a Wednesday afternoon but the patrons pay no mind to him: everyone is too occupied with themselves, with their croissants and their cappuccinos and whoever they’re chatting to, not noticing the former idol standing in their presence, looking for _another_ former idol, hidden among them.

A woman nudges past him. Her shoulders bump slightly into his as she walks by and in following her shadow Renjun finds him: the long, black trench coat hung over the back of his chair at the far right corner of the café, initials embroidered in red on the cuff of his left sleeve.

“Xuxi?”

It slips out like an old habit.

Lucas puts his phone down, turning around to look up, and Renjun isn’t sure if agreeing to meet was a good idea.

“Hi,” is all he says, hand waving. 

The last time he saw Lucas, he was barely recognizable: less vibrant, fluttering life, more empty cocoon, fragile. A person grown tired of his schedules, the flying in and out of the country, the travel overseas, the late night practices. Maybe he should’ve seen all of it as a sign, figured out the road he (and the rest of WayV) were headed down.

Time has been kind to him, Renjun decides.

Lucas fills out the turtleneck he’s wearing beautifully, snug in all the right spots, broad chest and fitted sleeves rolled up to his forearm. Beneath the sleeves Renjun can see the ends of a tattoo peeking out, some swirling design that runs along the length of his arm. The high neck of his sweater rests cozy beneath his chin, his jaw, clear cut as ever without the frailty of being overworked jutting through his bones.

Looking at him feels like a blade dug straight through his gut. Breathless.

“Hi.”

Lucas smiles—charming, exactly how Renjun remembers—wide until Renjun feels the tightness in his stomach slowly, slowly drag out: hilt in hand, all the memories he’s kept inside left to bleed.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


vii.

The flight back from Manila passes quickly. Renjun receives a text as soon as he turns off airplane mode. ****

**mark**

_check your bed when u get to the dorm haha  
also please dont be mad _

As soon as he steps into his room, he feels it in the air. Something is off.

Renjun approaches his bed with a quickened heartbeat, blood rushing in his ears. His backpack gets forgotten at the front door, his coat slung over the chair next to it. There’s no reason to feel any difference here: this is _his_ room, his space, but the intrusion lingers alongside the dust in the air.

On top of his pillow he sees it, folded stripes of black and white. There’s more, though: another shirt underneath it—that white long sleeve with grey graphics printed on the sleeves and back—and three boxes of confectionary.

The wrapper opens with a sharp crackle. Each bite sends him back to days spent in the practice room, uncertain.

Hidden in the collar of the striped shirt is a small card: barely the size of Renjun’s hand, looking closer to a business card than any greeting card he’s ever received before. A simple brown font decorates the front ( _Happy Birthday_ ) accompanied by the drawing of a small dog. He holds the card stock, feels its pointed corners, its density, before lifting it open.

Clear as day is the neat printing of Lucas’ handwriting, each character unmistakable to Renjun’s eyes.

> _these belong to you more than me  
> _ _wear them out, if you want._
> 
> _happy birthday, renjun  
> _ _— forever yours, xuxi_

Renjun doesn’t leave the dorm that night.

He takes off his clothes, wrestles off his hoodie and jeans and tosses everything on the floor. The shirt fits the same as before: the sleeves too long, hem at his thighs, collar wide enough to duck his head into until only his eyes are visible, swimming in cotton and Lucas’ scent, the ghost of his presence with him, clinging onto every strand of the fabric. He lifts the wrist to his nose, whiffs the pulse point of the shirt and in an instant he’s gone, tricks himself with eyes closed.

It’s all too much. The scent, the familiarity of this feeling, where it takes him; he breathes it in and suffocates on the memories. There’s no use pretending he’s okay: this is closure for Lucas, a final gesture left on Renjun’s pillowcase. Is he okay with the way things ended? Why did Lucas let them go so easily? Where was the love that felt so unwavering months ago?

Why didn’t Renjun try to fix their misunderstanding?

Renjun places the graphic shirt in his closet, hung near the back. Two of the boxes of Pocky are moved to his desk, while he carries the opened one with him to his bedside. 

He gives himself this night, one last time to relive it all: he scrolls through every photo in his library, rewatches their videos together. By the end of it the birds begin to chirp outside, dawn approaching; his eyes, the worst they’ve been his whole life, dry from looking at his phone, puffy from crying.

He sleeps and when he wakes he carries on, decidedly unshaken. Dwelling on the past won’t mend the broken.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“…up next: _Instagram_ by DEAN.”

Melancholic crooning washes over the studio. Across the table Lucas keeps his headphones on, head tilted down to look at the phone tucked in his lap. Beneath his expression there’s a flash of a smile, quiet, kept for himself. Renjun tries not to think about it.

In this setting—studio lights, wide table, spinning wheely chair with a worn out indent imprinted on the bottom cushion—Renjun feels completely in control. This is his element. Lucas is merely a guest in the world he’s created for himself, post-idol stardom. Even if this interview was set up by Lucas’ manager, the bulk of their questions for the night discussed and selected before they went on air, this is still _his_ turf, his show. If he can do anything worry free, it’s this.

Last week’s meeting at the café left Renjun driving home in what he can only describe as pure heartache. Nothing monumental happened in that short hour. They laid down the boundaries of the interview, its purpose, filled in the years missing since they last spoke—Lucas’ ventures into acting, his label deal with Jackson, the album jacket photoshoot scheduled that week; university and radio for Renjun, writing and composing in between—yet the twisting gut feeling remained when he watched Lucas walk out of the bakery an hour later, black trench swaying behind him with each step.

There’s heartache, and there’s longing too, fresh iron pouring out of him like an open wound. Longing for something he wishes he could have changed, _said_ , either then or now, a way to make amends for themselves, take back the time they lived without each other.

A lifetime has passed since he last remembered loving Lucas. It’s silly, how easily he can imagine himself loving him again, and how much that scares him.

The song’s melody hollows out and Lucas tucks away his phone, elbows perched on the table.

Renjun puts on his headphones again. If he can do anything, it’s this.

“And we’re back! Good evening everyone, you’re listening to RenD. The song we just listened to was a request by our guest today, Lucas Wong.” Renjun turns toward Lucas, who still maintains the semblance of a smile, polite. “It’s one of your favourites, right?”

“Yes, yes. I love that song,” Lucas responds, nodding. The audience won’t see this, the flick of hair over his forehead bouncing along with him.

“Recently fans noticed that you started posting on your Instagram account again. Are you working on any upcoming projects?”

 _This_ , this part is easy, seamless: Renjun asks, Lucas answers, Renjun asks more, their back and forth an effortless conversation despite the clearly outlined interview on the table. Like the café again or their group live streams in NCT, that years old chemistry resurfacing comfortably. No wonder so many people loved them together.

“It’s been a couple months since you released music. Your new single: it’s a break up song, right? Can you tell us a little about it?”

Lucas leans forward, adjusting the mic on the table. “Sure. Funny, it wasn’t the first pick for the album’s single. I had another track that I wrote with Kunhang a long time ago, and he was gonna feature on it.”

At the mention of Hendery’s name Renjun smiles, unable to suppress it. The listening audience won’t see that reaction, either. They’d love to.

“Then I went through— I went through a rough time last year, took time off. Logged out of all my social media and spent my time working on the album, getting all of these emotions out and… that’s how it happened. It’s not really a break up song but a song about preventing a break up.” Lucas’ mouth opens, then closes. “Mending something before it becomes broken and the willingness to make it work.”

Tension hangs like a tightrope in the air, tethered across the table. Renjun looks at Lucas and it’s silent, tongue in teeth.

Renjun clears his throat. “Resilience.”

“Something like that.” Lucas’ expression flickers for a moment, somewhere Renjun can’t find—regret, perhaps—before it shifts into a content, polite smile again. “I missed my time away from the stage. I’m excited to perform again soon.”

Renjun agrees. He understands that ache more than anyone.

“Thanks for sharing that with us. Let’s listen to it, shall we? Here’s the newest single by Lucas Wong: _All for You_.”

  
  
  
  


viii.

Renjun is 25 when NCT Dream disbands.

Their end is as organic as it could possibly be: an official disbandment announcement at the end of their contracts, closed out with final farewell single and concert—something previous groups weren’t lucky enough to have.

He and Chenle knew that the end of their contracts would be the end of Dream, especially given the little they had left to hang onto within the company. SM didn’t prepare them well enough to sustain anything after Dream. Sure, the OYF partnership in 2019 put their foot in the door, but that’s all the public ever saw: a single opportunity taken, one that would hopefully become a gateway for more. No one knew about the sponsorships lined up for them individually throughout the first half of their career, each one turned down for the sake of the group as a whole. Where were the pictorials, the magazine interviews, the drama OSTs and brand sponsorships? What were they doing while waiting months between albums?

The fans saw mismanagement and under promotion on the company’s part. Renjun saw blatant sabotage to his career.

They waited through the years for things to change, kept busy through NCT 2020 and all the one-off NCT U promotions, making Youtube content for fans, enduring the post-pandemic recovery of the entertainment industry and anxiously awaiting for the day they perform for a real audience. They cheered and supported Jaemin’s budding acting career, Jeno’s foray into songwriting, Mark and Donghyuck’s unit debut in early 2022, waiting on the sidelines for their time. Even the new members maintained a busier schedule in Japan with NCT 139 than they did with Dream.

It was Jisung’s planned solo debut in 2024 that cemented their decision.

When it came to the roundtable discussions for contract renewal, Chenle and Renjun presented their decisions firmly. Renjun had the radio show to go home to, more opportunities awaiting him in China if he wanted them. Chenle wanted out of the industry entirely: too many years in the limelight, craving normalcy. The rest of Dream knew, understood and respected their choices, kept stone-faced and unsurprised during the meeting. They had things to fall back on anyway.

Renjun moves out of the dorm a week prior to their farewell concert. He looks back at his room, his time here, his friends, sees all of them with no resentment. It’s no fault of theirs that things worked out the way they did, wondering how it would’ve been if he debuted in WayV, if he graduated out of Dream like originally planned. Where he would be, what _they_ could’ve been, had the company planned things differently.

Dream officially disbands in September 2025 but fell apart much earlier, their resilience as a group unravelling with each passing year. The company didn’t do much to fight for Dream—to fight for Renjun and Chenle to stay—and that might be the worst part of it all.

Some things change and some things don’t.

  
  
  
  
  
  


“Shit,” Lucas mutters under his breath.

Renjun bows to the remaining staff through the studio window, turning off the lights before opening the door to let Lucas out of the room. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s fine, just—” Lucas sighs, shoving his phone into his pocket. “My manager went out drinking. Met up with an old friend in Seoul or something.”

His fingers thread through his hair—his natural hair colour, Renjun notices belatedly—and sighs once more.

“Do you… need a ride home?”

The question slips out before Renjun can stop himself from saying it. His stomach turns, and he doesn’t want to address why the prospect of this makes him nervous. Lucas’ hotel isn’t too far away from the studio and Renjun is a _professional_ : there’s no greater intention to it. A gesture of kindness for an old friend.

“If you don’t mind,” Lucas says, embarrassed. “That’d be great. Thanks.”

In the car, Renjun doesn’t play any music. He lets the silence fill up the air and turns the windows down a notch, letting the breeze skate through the car and create a noise all its own, howling into the night.

His stomach loudly grumbles—not flips, although he still feels that, too—and Lucas turns toward him, one eyebrow cocked upward.

“Did you eat?”

Renjun tightens his lip. “I usually bring something to eat and wait until I get home. But I forgot today.” He rushed out in a hurry, too busy watching a lecture to notice that he would be late if he grabbed food.

“I passed by a hotpot place on the way to the studio, it’s near my hotel. We can go if you’re hungry. It’ll be on me.” Lucas tilts his head to the side, looking intently at Renjun. “Like a thanks for driving me home.”

A voice echoes in the back of Renjun’s head, and his stomach twists again, all the signs for him to say no, no, not tonight, not ever if he could help it. He’s spent too long building up those walls again, unwilling to let them crumble down now.

He hears himself say yes anyway, hoping the streetlights mask the blush on his cheeks.

  
  
  


Dinner is brief and filling. Their small talk grows into genuine conversation, laughter: knees knocking under the table, Renjun reaching over the table to place a piece of meat on Lucas’ plate, the momentary burn of Lucas’ hand placed on the small of his back on their way into the restaurant. It almost feels like a date. Renjun looks at Lucas across from the simmering broth shared between them and he feels 18 again, invincible and optimistic, untouchable to time.

When Lucas leaves a kiss on his cheek right before he exits the car—shy, delicate, Lucas’ eyelashes fanning over Renjun’s skin—he starts to believe it was a date, too.

  
  
  


“Johnny and Ten are getting married,” Lucas says, sipping on a hot chocolate. “Were you invited?”

They go out again the following night—Renjun picked Lucas up after the radio show, opting to go for food in Myeongdong. March is chilly enough for their breaths to be visible in the air, the steam rising from the street vendors.

Renjun bites into his skewer, chews on the thought. “I was. Haven’t decided if I’m going yet.”

“If it changes your decision, I’m going. Thailand’s beautiful in November.” Renjun hears a hint of hope behind Lucas’ suggestion. He can’t tell if it’s real or made up.

Behind them comes a shutter of a camera, then another, then a screech, then Lucas is taking Renjun’s hand in his and they’re running through the crowds, fighting the last breaths of winter until they curve at the corner of a sidewalk, finding refuge off the small alleyways leading to the parking garage.

Renjun giggles, breathless, adrenaline and excitement coursing through him like they’re teens again, trainees sneaking out of the dorm. He’s giddy the whole ride home, exhilarated for the first time in what feels like decades, and Lucas holds his hand, or his thigh, or his neck—one fingernail trailing up and down the base of his spine—the entire time, anchoring him in this moment.

When they’re parked in front of the hotel Lucas doesn’t leave right away. He lingers in the passenger seat, leans across the center console of the car, one hand still around the nape of Renjun’s neck, breath so close that Renjun can smell his cologne, his skin, could get lost in the warmth of his lips if he closed his eyes and tilted his chin a little more, give in to that temptation. For a moment he convinces himself it can be as easy as leaning forward and finding home.

Lucas asks him to come upstairs, whispers, “stay the night. I’m flying out tomorrow.” Renjun’s heart soars at the same time his stomach plummets into his seat, almost letting himself say yes when Lucas finds his hand again, their fingers folded over his lap.

He doesn’t.

“I can’t,” Renjun breathes. Leans away, tentative to let this moment pass. 

Lucas nods slowly, sits back in his seat with a heavy breath, and it’s over. 

“Not yet.” Renjun squeezes his hand, thumb running along the ridges of his knuckles. The look Lucas gives him is heart shattering. “Next time. Ask me again next time and I’ll say yes.”

It’s a promise he hopes to keep.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


iv.

Their hotel room in Osaka is cozy. Down the hallway Renjun hears the rest of their company wandering about, Taeyong’s worried pacing trodding up and down the corridors.

Renjun locks the door behind them. Immediately he notices how both beds are set up next to each other, barely a gap between them. Smiling, he heads over to plop his luggage on the floor and unzips it, pulling out Lucas’ striped shirt and a pair of shorts.

The bed is comfortable when he settles in but not warm enough.

On the left side of the room Lucas emerges out of the washroom, unimpressed with whatever he found inside. 

“Get in here!” Renjun calls across the room.

His boyfriend blinks as he smiles, the widest grin spreading across his face. His clothes get lost on his way to the bed, leaving him only his boxers as he wriggles inside. Renjun feels the immediate shift in heat under the blanket with Lucas curled up next to him, an arm around his shoulders, the other over the front of his torso; he sinks into the dips and curves of Lucas’ body, skin welcome and warm.

Lucas glances down before kissing the top of Renjun’s head. “I didn’t know you packed my shirt.”

He’s smiling into Lucas’ chest when he says, “I wouldn’t leave home without it.” A simple statement bordering a promise, a guarantee.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Bangkok is too hot for this sort of attire.

The ceremony’s proximity to the beach gives way for a cool breeze, the lapping sounds of the ocean’s shore present in the background as Ten recites his vows. It’s late afternoon, the sun is strong and unforgiving, and Renjun is sweating in his suit jacket, having seemed to miss the dress code memo for the wedding. Some of the guests around him have opted for dress shorts and rolled up shirts, others in full cocktail hour attire like himself.

Lucas stands on the other side of the ceremony, one row ahead and too far away. The crown of his head is visible enough for Renjun to see from where he’s seated (some of Johnny’s relatives are _tall_ , damn) and even from here Renjun thinks he looks beautiful, if only judging by the neat parted style of his dyed brown hair.

He shifts his focus back to the front, to watch Ten slip the ring onto Johnny’s finger, but his mind is in another place. 

Renjun has envisioned them up there before: once, eons ago when they dressed in black and white attire for a photoshoot, stiff pants and buttoned shirts and quiffed hair. He took one look at Lucas in those clothes and saw all those possibilities, thought they’d make it to the alter one day. 

It seemed possible at the time but he can’t remember when or why that feeling stopped—only that it did.

The guests clap, a chorus that carries with the wind and washes into the ocean, then Johnny is leaning down to meet Ten, capturing him in a kiss that last a lifetime. 

They leave the altar and walk down the aisle, now newlyweds, and the guests continue their applause until the very end. Renjun catches Lucas looking his way, can see him clearly now that they’re all standing—beige suit, white shirt, silk tie falling down his front—and for a fraction of a second he imagines them again, up there instead of standing in the audience.

Renjun tugs at the black bowtie around his throat, giving himself room to breathe. 

The wedding party soon follows the path of the newlyweds, then the guests.

Renjun waits behind as the other guests leave, seated in his chair until they all trickle out. He catches the sound of Kun’s laughter coming from the other side of the aisle coupled with the bright sight of Yangyang’s hair. He stands up when he sees Lucas leave his seat, gravitating toward him.

They meet midway at the aisle, walking in tune with the sounds of the crashing ocean waves.

“You came,” Lucas says, not quite meeting Renjun’s eye as does.

“You sound surprised.”

“I’m delighted, actually.” Lucas’ hand finds Renjun’s, slotting their fingers together. “Come home with me tonight.”

Renjun quirks his lip, tears his gaze away from the shoes to look at Lucas. “The night hasn’t even started.”

“Still. When this is all over,” Lucas pauses, stops in his tracks. “Stay with me.”

  
  
  
  


No one notices their disappearance during the reception.

Renjun’s hotel is closer to the wedding venue than Lucas’—they decide to forgo their original plan and Renjun takes Lucas home instead, back to his hotel room. Takes him against the door first, lips on lips, one hand down the front of Lucas’ slacks, then on the bed, lips wrapped around him, heavy and deep in his mouth. Finishes it off beneath the sheets, fingernails scraping down Lucas’ back, his figure hovering over him an image etched into Renjun’s mind for eternity.

Sunlight breaches through the glass windows the next morning and Lucas is still there, splayed on his stomach on the right side of the bed, sound asleep. Not much has changed since he got to see this, got to feel the warmth emitting from Lucas’ skin. The only real difference now is the addition of the tattoos: crawling up his arm, extending across his shoulder and back. 

Renjun pinches himself awake, makes sure this isn’t a dream he’ll wake up from alone.

“What happens when we go home?” is the first thing Renjun asks when Lucas brings himself to consciousness, big eyes blinking in his direction.

“I don’t know,” Lucas mumbles. His arm creeps over Renjun’s waist, pads pressing into his flesh. “Maybe we can make it work this time.”

A heartbeat passes, then a dagger pierced through the heart. “I still don’t know what happened with us before.”

Lucas strokes a finger along the knobs of Renjun’s spine, vertebrae by vertebrae, waiting for an answer.

“I was stupid. Thought a break would help, give us time to figure things out. Be our own people. Took my own uncertainty out on both of us, I guess.” Renjun exhales. “You looked like you moved on, though.”

“For a while I thought I did.”

The hand on Renjun’s back skates up his shoulder, thumb along his jaw. Lucas tucks a strand of hair behind the crest of Renjun’s ear and he shivers at the movement, its gentleness. “And you…”

He proceeds cautiously, trails his finger behind Renjun’s ear, down the side of his neck.

“You didn’t.”

Renjun swallows. Braces himself for the admission. “Not entirely. I figured that out recently.”

Lucas’ expression softens. “Were you ever gonna tell me?”

“I never planned to.”

“I said I was forever yours, remember?” He takes Renjun’s hand, brings his knuckles to his lips. “We're both here, better. What’s holding you back now?”

Renjun doesn’t know.

He doesn’t answer. Instead he pulls himself forward, unfolds his fingers to press his palm over the side of Lucas’ neck, closes the small distance between them on the bed with his lips planted on Lucas’ lips, plump, warm, forgiving. On instinct Renjun rolls over, framing Lucas’ body with his own, held in place with both of Lucas’ hands skimming down his sides to settle around his waist, thumb imprinted along the jut of his hipbone. His hips roll in time with their next kiss, Renjun’s lips capturing the deep moan it provokes: a sound he tucks into a box, lock and key confined in his memory.

And when they fuck moments later—Renjun on top, the flush across Lucas’ chest a shade of pink he’ll never forget—it’s tender: it’s making love for the last time they’re certain of, slow in its pace, kisses mending all the wounds time has yet to heal. 

Renjun finishes with nails dug into his skin, bruising with the weight of Lucas’ desperation to have this again.

  
  
  


They don’t shower together. Lucas chooses to go first, leaving Renjun to open his luggage and pick out clothes suitable for a sunny day. Going out is the last thing on his mind.

When they swap spots Renjun is liberal with the warm water, lathering himself up and rinsing the stale stickiness down the drain.

Lucas is sitting on the hotel bed when he steps out of the washroom. In his hands he holds onto an old shirt: a striped long sleeve, wide bands of black and white running horizontally, the one Renjun left in his luggage, carries with him whenever he travels, always, even after all this time.

There’s a question lurking beneath Lucas’ expression, beneath the confusion and the disbelief. He opens his mouth to ask but Renjun answers before he can:

“I wouldn't leave home without it.”

**Author's Note:**

> i began writing this fic before nct 2020 was announced so if any of this becomes inaccurate next month... welp.
> 
> lucas' single comes from [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YsBR5xGP96Y) song, which the fic is named after. there were a _lot_ of details i didn't get to include — if you have any questions about this universe, leave 'em in the comments! thank you for reading ♡
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/boyfrendery) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/boyfrendery)


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